


you don’t know a thing about my sins

by crabmoss



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Graphic Description, POV Second Person, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:02:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24658030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crabmoss/pseuds/crabmoss
Summary: a short second person story based loosely off heaven help us by mcr. it is also a reflection of religion and fear of death and I mean to hurt no one with it.
Kudos: 7





	you don’t know a thing about my sins

**Author's Note:**

> this is something I’ve never tried before, and thought I would give it a go.

you take your last look at the building behind you. it’s a pale grey with dirty stained glass windows, and it’s hurt you. that building has hurt you, and you despise it and you’d like nothing more than to put your fist through the smug faces of the saints on those water stained windows.

the beads in your hands burn heavy as you grip them tighter and tighter and turn them over in your hands. you grab the metallic cross on the end and the small mother mary and pull. the beads snap and you can hear them clink down the steps behind you. it’s a satisfying noise, it means you have one more distance between you and that horrid building looming over you.

you take the rest of the beads and drape them around your neck as a trophy, but they tighten and begin to strangle you. you try to get your hand in as a buffer between the once-holy beads and your neck, but they burn once more, forcing your hand out and allowing the beads to tighten. they don’t strangle you, but you can feel them in every movement on the steps. you feel like you will never be able to escape and try to pull on the beads again, only for your hand to be charred. you stumble up the steps to the grand doors of the horrible pale gray building and stick your hand into the font in hopes for it to cool you down, but the water that some call holy acts as acid and burns through your hand. in place of where you had been burned, the bones of your fingers poke through in mocking.

the tears that stream down your face only sting as they make their way down, and you let them drop down onto your torso where they act as daggers. you make your way down the cathedral steps and the tears pierce through your skin. they tear apart your flesh while the only thing you can do is fall onto the steps and use your bony fingers to finally remove the once-holy beads from around your neck and pull them apart. you can hear the beads roll down the steps. you feel the only thing you can do as you spit out the blood from your wounds is scream to the heavens you had been forced to believe in “someone save us!” 

the tears that once burned and cut through your skin have turned to blood and you can see the end in sight. the world around you is fading and you hope to everything in the universe that you don’t end up in heaven.

when you come to, the terrible light gray building has been replaced by nothing but ashes. everything around you is nothing but ashes. your hands are back to being hands and you can see a tower off in the distance. it calls your name, but you choose not to go towards it. you walk instead towards the grayscale brick wall to your left and climb atop it so you can take in the view of this place. it’s not heaven, not hell. it’s simply death. you take in the sights and the ashes and the freedom from the very thing you died over. in this place you are free.

**Author's Note:**

> “Would you pray for me? Or make a saint of me?”


End file.
